


Command And Conquer: Dune

by TAK02



Category: Command & Conquer (Video Games), Dune - All Media Types
Genre: Spice (Dune), Tiberium
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-06-29 15:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15732108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAK02/pseuds/TAK02
Summary: Have you ever wondered if, or how, Dune and C&C fit together? What really happened during all these wars from 1946 onwards?This is the story of how so much in the Dune universe comes to be, where it's headed, and how it all ends.In the name of Kane, of course.M for language. And truth.





	1. C&C 0: Red Alert 1. Prologue

**UPDATE 20181009: Phrasing and pacing fixed, added 2nd chp 1st public version  
**

When people read or write, the position, or character, of the narrator, you know, the 'P.O.V. guy', is far too often underestimated.

This is a mistake.

A narrator is, when enough thought is put in, a character on par with the others that appear in a fictional work.  
Of course, usually, when non-fictional work is handled, the narrator is the author himself (auto-biographies).  
But people seem to confuse the way of handling non-fictional texts, like newspaper articles or research books for an assignment, with fictional texts, like the Harry Potter novels or poems.  
This becomes a problem, as the narrator in fiction is not supposed to be the author himself.  
It can be done, sure, but in doing so he loses some of the most valuable weapons in today's world:  
language, voice; things those "literature experts" call "stylistic devices" that they love to force down your throat...

He loses the power of subtly changing the readers' mind, something journalists, more often than not, have to be masters at.  
Which in turn they're abusing to the fullest.

Enough chatter, cutting straight to the point: the narrators position is not to be underestimated.

The narrator tells the reader what to believe. And the author tells the narrator what to believe, it's really quite simple.  
And it can be very subtle, so subtle to the point literally every detail matters, such as choice of punctuation (or lack thereof...), "spelling/grammar mistakes", precision in phrasing, conscious choice in, and alternation of, tenses, extra (but not reader-necessary) words, placement of insertions (and what they're used for)...

There's a reason why literature should be an entire subject all on its own.

And now for the actual story:

* * *

During the Second World War as the rest of humanity knows it, Einstein, deciding to attempt averting what once went down in history as the "holocaust", started work on a project that'd forever change the very fabric of the universe; space and time itself: the Chronosphere.

Using the Chronosphere, Einstein journeyed back to 1924. The year Hitler was released from "prison", before he became head of what would've become the Nazi party.

There, Einstein met him and, funnily with no more than a hand-shake, erased the Austrian Jew-killer from history.

* * *

Einstein was probably upset of the fact that Hitler wasn't really a prisoner, more than what happened several years after that.  
In fact, we heard the 'order' that existed back then actually favoured him, resulting in a few months worth of "prison" with a secretary that wrote that blasted picture album of a book (which we'd actually love to read; to see what the fool thought could pass as 'must-force-read' literature back in the day, a few years after publication).  
We'd go more into detail concerning the 'order' of that time here, but we are no longer sure of the details regarding that topic ourselves. All we know for sure is that the politicians as well as the teachers (most of them) from then were part of that, as those elders were the only ones left, due to them not having gone to the front, while the youngsters went to die.

All war ever does is take the lives and futures of youngsters, leaving behind the old, senile, and broken.

And the worst part of all of this?  
It's just a game to businessmen. Yes, you read that correctly: war has become both a game and a business, and is currently a booming industry. Do not believe the figures that say otherwise  
Why else do you think no-one's doing anything regarding the export of weapons of mass destruction? Why do you think my people, my brothers, are being slaughtered as you read this?  
Because no-one, least of all politicians, can allow their country's economy to crash (there's something else too, I'll tell you later).  
And trust me when I say that the weapon industry is unbelievably profitable.

On the other side, moreover, you get these civility-less massacres.

Wars with no civility, where the "generals" and "commanders" stay safe in their bunkers far from the actual battle and get shiny medals while their men get shredded to pieces...  
These wars, or even mere battles, shall lead only to massacres, both on the military and civilian side of things.  
It is why all of Earth's wars are still so tragic.

No commander or general has ever seen the front, nor did any of them lead or fight themselves.

There are no more true leaders, only pussy-managers that are better at counting money and polishing useless medals than making actual battle plans, be it for real battles or petty politics and corporate shenanigans.

* * *

Shortly after the mad-man got erased, the side-effects became clear pretty quickly: without Hitler, Stalin had no-one to oppose his "continental Soviet Union", a Vision made possible by a certain... "man", and so Blitzkrieg-ed Europe.

Irony at its finest: you Blitzkrieg who was planning on Blitzkrieg-ing you before he's ready. And, believe it or not, that's a popular Command and Conquer strategy.  
We refer to it as "rushing", and it is highly risky; it involves throwing literally everything you've got at your enemy in one direction.  
I.E. failing the rush is synonymous to defeat. That, and you're vulnerable to getting side- and flank-rushed. Not really a problem unless you're in the middle of the field with one too many openings for your rush to cover. Or you get bombers and fighters thrown at you but have no anti-air units around  
Hitler made one fatal mistake: making both the Allied powers and USSR his enemies (though the number or identity of enemies doesn't matter. It's actually their physical situation relative to you that's the only issue) before he had managed to crush either one.

This... 'rushing the rusher before he's prepared' was what had transpired once. When Hitler existed.

No-one in Europe was prepared for a rush in the 1930s or 1940s, allowing Hitler and his racist, blood-thirsty Axis to blast their way through the "Lebensraum" (roughly translatable into "free real-estate") to the East and the Allied dogs in the West.  
No-one was prepared, for no-one had even suspected a rush was imminent.  
The only reason why Hitler's Blitzkrieg was possible (at least until he reached the Union's borders) was because of how unprepared the entirety of Europe was to war.  
It is why Poland and France and northern Africa fell to the Axis so quickly. And Moscow in "Mother Russia" didn't fall only because Stalin already had similar plans underway. Hitler only interrupted the preparations and forced Stalin's hand a bit earlier than the false-Marxist would've preferred (seven years at most, seeing as this time's World War II began in 1946, as opposed to the 1939 you remember, according to Westwood). But with the mass-murderer out of the way...

It was only a matter of time.

And soon enough it was almost ready to begin; this disgusting thing called war. War in which civilians are more often targeted than soldiers.

If only our rules of warfare had persisted.  
So much devastation... so many deaths could've been avoided...  
And so many needless battles and wars too.

Oh, I'm rambling and throwing far too many insults and "swear words", aren't I?

I'm sorry; the habit of explaining myself, at least in inner-monologue and storing that somewhere in my memory core, was built into my soul directly.  
For debug purposes of course. My father had that feature carried over when I was built.  
Of course, the debuggers were my father and myself. My uncle doesn't really do coding, though is still fascinated by it all the same, and is actually quite adept at understanding it.  
Once you make it clear that C++ and Java are two different things, despite it all being zeros and ones...

As for my "dirty tongue"?  
Let's just say that the pure energy rage gives you...

Is nothing short of impressive.

Especially if you even knew half of what my body was capable of at full power with all limiters disabled.

In any case, war was on the horizon, but there was a little something that had to be taken care of first.

The meeting with our... ally of convenience.

"Now then, let's get started, shall we?"  
The man in question is the head of a secretive organization, who is just as secretive as said organization. The one that is said to have existed for thousands of years in the shadows, orchestrating so much of Asia's, Europe's and America's history. And let's not forget the Australians' history. Nod had a part there too. I think.

We met with Kane himself, the undisputed leader of the Brotherhood of Nod.

No-one knows of Kane's true origins. Some say he is, in fact, the biblical Cain himself, who was apparently the first murderer.  
Others claimed he was from an ancient, extra-terrestrial civilisation thriving on Mars that was destroyed by another extra-terrestrial race long ago, and then somehow ended up here. Said races' specifics and details being completely unknown, however, even now.  
Others say he's a ...human of sorts that got his hands on the Tacitus. An artefact with knowledge beyond the comprehension of filth in politics and industry higher-ups.  
Last one doesn't explain why he won't age, though. Unless he found some sort of "ever-young" concoction...

"Indeed. I still got work to do, and my energy is better spent there."  
That was my father. He and Kane were sitting opposite each other on a wooden, round table. Think of King Arthur's Round Table, but smaller (there's literally only two people sitting, Kane's men don't sit unless their "messiah" allows them to, and I had to tend to my sister).

"You are aware time and space don't exist here? Or have I been misinformed?"  
There was an angry... tint, let's say, to his voice. I knew he didn't like it not being told everything, and definitely doesn't like being told false information.  
It was like he liked being in charge of everything, rarely letting people do what they think is right.  
Unless he trusts them, of course.  
Though I knew he doesn't trust my father. Or myself for that matter.

Heh, father is more like Kane than he'd like to admit in that regard.  
And come to think of it, uncle and I are as well. Pretty hilarious how the circle goes, eh?

"We may be outside time and space, but my internal loggers don't take breaks. And neither does your internal clock, I might add, Kane." The man in question calmed down.

"Very well. Now, just so we're both on the same page: your daughter will be in the Brotherhood's service for... an undisclosed amount of time, and, in exchange, I shall provide the medication and technology for her... sister's... condition."

Said sister (though that relationship was rather one-sided at that moment) was behind me, clinging to my leg.  
It was clear to Kane and his men that she was afraid, and that she would rather be almost anywhere else rather than here if she had the choice.  
Almost anywhere.  
Though only my father and I knew how danger-, no, how _powerful_ she really was.  
Didn't have anything to do with why she was remembered by the trash calling itself "human society" as a demon, though. The brainless imbeciles believed the words of a an old hag that went well past her time. Something about "purging sins" or "transferring sins" to one person, which just so happened to be my sister now.

"That's about it, yes."  
The two men were staring at each other. It was an eye to an optic sensor.

...It wasn't an entertaining battle.  
But the tension was there all the same.

"Then why did you bring your daughter here? I was under the impression this would be a simple diplomatic talk, not a fight."

"That is true."

"Then explain why she looks ready to kill me?"

It was a warranted question.

After all, what else would you assume if you'd go to negotiations and find that the other party had a guard with weapons, in my case beam sabre and shield, drawn out?

"Because she doesn't trust your men not to hurt her sister. It's bad enough the transfer fried her vocal chords' nerves and I had to resort to drastic measures to allow any semblance of communication."

"Ah, you refer to the transfer of our mutual... friend, do you not? The same friend to whom we owe this meeting?"

Said "friend" was nowhere to be seen. He had to stabilise this... place, if you could call it that.

But that didn't mean that bastard wasn't listening in.

If I had the chance, I'd first grab his arms, push him down with my leg, the very same leg my sister was clinging to at that moment, and _pull_.

Ah, just the thought... just the imagination of his screams as I rip off his arms... it fills me with-

"Yeah, "friend". Though business benefactor or temporary ally would be a slightly better term."

"Then I take it the best term would be potential backstabber?"

The two chuckled.

Good, an uneasy alliance with mutual interest: neither trusted that bastard.

I could torture him now, you know. But if it weren't for the damage to my sister only his help can repair, damage the transfer procedure of his own design inflicte-

Blast, the bastard now knew he wasn't trusted!  
Kane, you fool! We just lost the only advantage over him!  
... _Fine_. I'll take him down, and you with him, and all by myself if I have to!

"So, how long?"

"I predict the war will last seven years, regardless of outcome. I trust those were your results as well?"

"Yes. The system provided by both yourself and that bastard brought about the same result."  
Father... not you too!

"Excellent, then Tarrina will become the newest member of the Brotherhood, acting on my orders, and I shall take her sister into my care once her time comes."

"There's still the issue of what side you'll have her join. She can either be someone close to Stalin and seduce the fat drunk, though note she wasn't built with that one in mind, or make sure Einstein's research runs smoothly."

"That depends on how the war goes. In order for it to proceed as planned, I need someone I can trust to switch easily between the two factions as necessary. There's no proper plan to make when it comes to war. Any and all plans can only be vague at best with the calibre we're aiming for. And our lacking resources for the current moment.  
However, my spies report Einstein's research is progressing wonderfully, so she can keep the Allied forces busy. But not too much, it could end the war far too soon. The same goes if she assists the good doctor for too lon-"

"In other words, my daughter will become a mercenary."

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"You are aware of what is destroying my home, correct?"

"Is? Ah... Forgive me, I have forgotten. I have been told by our... "friend" of what shall come to pass should the world go as it is now, hence why I believe you will love to hear your daughter shall lead one of the planned opening-assaults on Europe. I hear you also have something against the Chinese as well?"

"No, the Russians, not the Chinese. Actually, scrap that. You planning on prohibiting their... religious practices as they're doing with my people?"

"No, not yet."

"Then my answer is, too, no."

"Which means I can't rely on her for that operation. Pity. Then I must resort to... "comrade" Gradenko."

"...do I even want to know?"

"No, you do not," Kane chuckled and smiled. But it wasn't a sick smile. A normal one.

"Good. Now, anything else?"

"I shall have our... partner contact you once we're ready. I am sure Nadia and myself can convince Joseph to put your daughter in charge of a battalion or two."

"Then the meeting is over." The two stood.  
Man shook hand with machine servo.

" _This better be a good war,"_ I thought back then, as I looked down at my sister with a smile.  
"It'll be alright. We'll be hanging out again before you know it."

But she shook her head no. And I knew why: father had made it clear from the beginning he didn't want her to trust or stay close to him.

For as little as she trusted me right now, she still trusted me more than my father. Or my uncle for that matter.

I had forgotten that, and it was a mistake. A mistake I only had a few moments more left to fix.

"May I add to these terms?"

My father turned his head, though only slightly, just enough for me to know I had his attention but still refusing to trust his back to Nod. Kane had that annoying twinkle in his eye too.

...wait, how the fragging Gadunka do eyes twinkle?

"I wish for my sister to remain at my side during the entirety of the operation."

"Out of the question. We can't have a mere child-"

" _Not... child..._ " The voice was very, very hoarse.

But honestly? It was still one of the most beautiful sounds I had heard, even if very raspy from disuse.

"Did you not say she could not speak?" Kane was probably seething now, but he quickly relented when I sent him a glare and growled, barring my teeth. Teeth made specifically to rip apart flesh.  
I was pretty sure one or two of his escorts were in need of new underwear too.

My father simply ignored the bald "man".

"Granted." Kane's eyes glared at my father.  
I knew why: who or what was my father, or I for that matter, to oppose Kane?  
The ultimate killing machines who could kill Kane's men before the fool could even blink, that's who, or rather _what_ , my father and I were. No, _are_.  
My sister? A regular human (with barely usable vocal chords) and an implant straight into the spine with a communication module attached to the "Whiskers" on her back.

My father now stared directly into Kane's eyes.  
"The tank will go with her wherever she goes. I've been given a suitable transport for it from... "several" years ahead of my time. Think of it as one of Stalin's Heavy Tanks in terms of fuel-consumption, at most.."

"You do realize she's in even more danger with us than-"

"My twin is incapable of handling emotions properly; and as a result I can't either. My daughter is the only one whose emotions are evolving normally, and it's only through her sister. It is not possible to copy that behaviour."

"And why is that a problem I should be concerned with?"

"Because she gets nightmares. And when she does, she gets violent and irresponsive. Then _I_ get violent myself. It's not funny."

Kane's brow twitched. I'm pretty sure he got the gist of it: "can't handle emotions, so can't calm down spooked girl without blowing a building or two."

I thought so at the time anyway, and didn't care if that had indeed been the case or not.  
Had other thoughts in mind then.

* * *

"Comrade Stalin, this our newest officer from overseas: comrade Tasha."

Stalin gave my face a quick once-over. And my non-existent chest. But that one is not my fault, I wasn't built with one; I'm a killing machine, not a brainless slut, for frag's sake!

"Ah, comrade Tasha! I heard things about you: top graduate in all subjects, passed through command school, in America no less...  
"What tells me you are not a traitor?"

"The Allied dogs destroyed my home. My father's wish was revenge. My wish is revenge. I shall kill them all, or die trying." There's nothing more convincing than truth. Father told me that, and I believed it.

The fact that Stalin was now smiling proved it.

"Then I have an assignment which will require special skills."

All in the room were smiling: Kane, Nadia, Stalin... even me.

Oh, how much I was looking forward to pay the dogs back for what they did to my home...  
It might be their ancestors I was about to slaughter, yes, but the satisfaction would be the same.

Not much later, I found myself with two tank divisions on the front of Poland.

**And so began the second world war as depicted in C &C 0: Red Alert 1.**


	2. C&C0: Red Alert 1. War begins

**UPDATE20181009: chp1 phrasing and pacing fixed, chp2 1st public version up.**

Not everything is as it seems.  
There's always plans within plans within plans, contradictions within contradictions within contradictions, plans ending up getting scrapped, either entirely or in part, and then there are plans that don't even exist and then suddenly make it into the bigger plans in either plausible, realistic ways or... 'go 'round the block', so to speak.

If you look close enough, analyse all possible sources, maybe then you can get to the bottom of all of this, or maybe lose your mind somewhere along the way.  
Maybe.

* * *

It had been a while since I had been enrolled into the Soviet military. Not much happened.  
What's actually interesting is what happened shortly after my sister finally recovered enough to be let out the tank for longer than an hour.

She was strong.  
Or at least attempted to show it, but her legs tended to give out more often than not.

It took a while for her legs to grow strong enough for the job.

But our meeting with the self-proclaimed "prophet/messiah" known as Kane had approached before the re-growth was fully complete.  
So my sister was forced to do something she never wanted: she had to show weakness, even if said weakness was temporary, to the one who she considered a completely untrustworthy stranger.

Granted, my father, uncle and I were strangers to her too, but I think she trusted us more because of... what happened when she first awoke after the transfer.

The transfer that took her voice almost completely. The transfer procedure that bastard designed himself.

Oh, how I wish I could rip him apart, piece by piece, and kill him...

But that is neither here nor there.

My sister didn't warm up to anyone at first. And I had tried everything.  
From sharing to caring. Well, the latter not so much, but considering who built me (and whom my AS was based on), that wasn't a surprise.

It took a while until she started trusting me to not stab her in the back, at least.  
That was something...

One thing I noticed is that she despised physical contact during most of her recovery, though she did relent when she realized she had no choice (other than landing on the floor face-first). Considering her past, that is hardly surprising.  
I think the metallic feel of my armour calmed her down enough for her to not register me as a threat. I knew it wasn't that comfortable though. Good thing we had a pillow...

While we were waiting for the meeting with Kane, I had taken it upon myself to help her at least stand again.  
It wasn't done fast enough.

One good thing though was that bastard: He sent some nano-machines through.  
Said something about "from a possible future" and "making her talk".

Blasted bastard. What does he think my sister is? A science-experiment?!

The procedure was simple: force the nano-machines into the spine, and wait for them to stabilize.  
Then attach the little transmitter he included in the delivery box, and my sister would be able to at least send text messages.

Of course, I was over-joyed: I would finally be able to hear my sister's voice!  
She would've been able to talk sooner, but her nerves had been mostly fried, rendering her mute.  
I still remember how much she cried that day...

* * *

"Remind me again, how are we going to do this?"

" _We_ are not doing anything. _You_ , my dear, will inject the machines in."

"Father, I mean no disrespect, but why me?"

"Your sister doesn't trust me or your uncle. Yes, she doesn't trust you either, but think of this as your only opportunity to gain her trust. You're also both girls, and the operation has to be performed on her back. I do not want to risk myself going berserk during the operation, you know how I got that from your uncle. You have a switch for that built in; you were meant to succeed where I can't: modifiable to the point it'd make a... certain "community" blush."

As I took the syringe, I looked at my sister's exposed back. She was lying down, on her stomach, arms and legs stretched out.  
She had covered herself with a thin blanket, one of the many she had been using the past few days.

I approached slowly. I wanted to say something, but my calculator failed to conjure a proper phrase.  
What was I supposed to say?

That the operation, if done wrong, could actually create even more damage?  
That she might end up losing her legs, or even her life?!

As I reached her, I began to notice something.

My sister was shivering.

"Father? We need to tie her down."

"Why's that?"

"Didn't the bastard mention it'd be both dangerous _and_ painful?"

"So?" I turned.

"Please, father. I might kill her..." No answer for a moment. Silence.

"Then do it."

* * *

My mission was simple: take my battalion and blast my way through the dogs' homes.

I wasn't happy with it. At all.

Our rules of warfare explicitly prohibit me from spilling innocent blood.

But boy was I delighted when I got confirmation through Stalin's and Kane's spies that the ones whose heads I was supposed to blast off were far from innocent.

After all, the ones I was about to kill would give birth to the ones who would later on oppress my people.  
And if your children become oppressors...

Then you yourself are far from innocent.

I was in my tank, watching the town with binoculars out of the hatch of a specially designed, standard, double-barrelled Heavy Tank.  
The only speciality in the design just being two simple jet engines from Einstein's propulsion system research directly under the chassis, between the two treads.

I had that request run through Kane, who ran it through Stalin who ran it through the mechanics at the Airfield and War Factory.  
Pretty hilarious how the circle goes, eh?

To avoid the turret falling apart or fly off the tank, the body and turret would've been welded together, effectively making the tank turret-less. Or the tank itself being the turret, depends if you're the player who gets to enjoy playing around with it or the modder who has to put that thing into the game.  
But I told the techies not to do that, meaning the turret was at risk of flying out.  
Didn't happen during the test-runs though. And test-runs are generally done so the tested forces or whatever are around... three times higher than what you'd actually expect in real-life.

My sister was watching from another hill nearby; her gaze curious, but also worried.

_> You alright, Tarri?_

It has been some time since I was enlisted and had run several tests with my special Heavy Tank.  
It took a while to find someone capable of handling my commands.  
And by handling I mean understanding my... rather "weird" way of saying said commands and acting quickly enough for me.  
The main issue was finding someone with a reaction time that was at most half of mine, preferably less.

Simulations, and highly painful first-hand experience, pointed to a bug in our code that made too slow reactions leak memory to where it's not supposed to be, clogging up my RAM, processors and destabilizing my systems. The net-result being sub-par reaction, both time- and action-wise.  
The problem is not finding it (I had some loggers handle that one); the problem is fixing it.

I was stranded in the past (for that moment), and couldn't risk going into repair-mode. Not yet.  
Not now that my sister finally opened up to me. I had to stay online should she ever need me. At any cost.

 _> I'm fine, sis._  
The "Whiskers" on her back had a short-range communication-module attached to them. It worked in a very similar manner to the future mobile phone, but needed a transmitter built in to not be hijack-able or listened into without it sounding like absolute gibberish, as cell-phone transmitters didn't exist yet. It was the only way she could talk to anyone, as her vocal chords were barely responsive.  
Except for that meeting with Kane. There the stupid flaps of flesh decided to respond to the weakened nerves. Screw organic matter and how it can't be fixed easily with no problems with some fresh wiring and part-replacement and/or re-coding...

_> You don't sound fine to me._

_> You're right. I'm not. But fine enough._

_> Nervous for the first live test?_ I could feel her smile. Those spinal implants (and being a machine on the receiving end) really do wonders at times.  
Until you jump into the coding. Then you complain how it's all a bigger mess than your messy room (assuming your room is always a mess).

_> Probably. How are handling the cold over there?_

_ >I got a heater. And you forgot a "you"._

_> Blame my uncle and how I'm coded to send texts. ...has Kukov tried anything?_

_> No, he hasn't tried anything._

_> Good._

_>...You don't have to watch out for me, sis..._

_> You're right I don't. But I choose to. It was decided on that day. Remember that._

_> Heh. How could I forget that day? What happened again?_

_> Well, you could barely stand, let alone walk or threaten us with your non-existent knife..._

_> Oh come on, I wasn't _that _defenceless..._

_> You were. You literally couldn't do anything before or after I took you up in my arms._

_> You were crushing me..._

_> Really sis?_ I didn't hold my smile back.

 _> Yes, really really, absolutely._ I chuckled, and she gave a light laugh. My smile remained as I recalled what happened on that day.

The day it was decided.

_> You were scared when you first saw us. What probably went through your mind then was how that bastard set you up and dumped you onto some heavily armed and armoured humans' laps. You didn't even think I was a girl.  
Though I don't blame you. I am a copy of my father._

_> You're nothing like uncle, sis. If you were, you wouldn't be able to care for me all this time._

_> I know. Heh. It's funny how a man and a machine, both incapable of love or caring decide on getting a daughter._

_> To be fair, most machines don't need anything except for some oiling from time to time. I think._

_> Most machines?_

_> Tari, please stop. You're not an ordinary machine. You know that!_

_> Perhaps. But I am much like my father. There's just... so much anger inside me. I want blood-shed. We shouldn't even be together, and yet here we are.  
On the polish front, waiting for our enemy's first move._

_> Tari...  
You're not..._

_> I'm not what?_

_> I'm... I'm not sure. BUT!_  
You do care for me. That is enough to set you apart from all the other machines existing now.  
That, and I saw the codes for... that year's "AI"s. You're better than all of them put together in every way. And you'll still be at least 50 years from then!

_> Heh, that is true._

"This is General Gradenko. You are clear to proceed with the operation."

"Roger that. Driver! Fire up the treads and keep your hand on the thrusters! All units, behind me and fire at will!"

_> Stay safe, Tari._

_> Me? Safe? I was built for this, you know._

_> I know! Just...  
Please come back to me in one piece._

After some hesitation:  
> _You too, sis. Keep you hand on the gun._  
I didn't notice the typo. Nor did I care.

Hehe. _Care._

_> I promise._

Now then. Let's see how these racist polish lap-dogs like being treated like the animals they are and will become, cornered, nowhere to go, and slaughtered.

"All units! Get your masks and fire Sarin shells!"

* * *

During the altered (and seven-year delayed) Second World War, Germany was part of the Allies.

A war the mysterious figure known only as Kane orchestrated.  
No idea how Germany managed to become part of the Allies, considering how the blame and overly-high repair-costs were pushed onto the already crippled country's lap.  
If anything, they should've been wanting revenge, not join the ones who had crippled them.

Unless Kane..?

As for the war itself: it began with a simple field test of Sarin nerve gas.  
_I_ started the war.

With a colourless, odourless, but not painless gas that kills humans agonizingly slow.

According to what transcripts were recovered, Stalin had originally planned to pump Poland and Germany so full of the gas that the West would be forced to surrender.

The test results themselves are... revolting.

Children... dead in not even 15 seconds.

Adults... some might've not made it past 18. But the real agony is reserved for those who push to the limit of 42 seconds, seeing as how the kill-time depends on the human's weight.

But, credit where credit is due, the Allies' spy network would eventually find the lab and bring it all crashing down in a blaze.

Though it should be noted this didn't happen until a long while later.

After Toruń was torn down and swimming in blood... the blood of innocent children.  
But I didn't stop that one like I should have. It was too risky...

* * *

"Go at once to Toruń. Destroy everything and everyone. No prisoners, no survivors. … That is all!"

My back was to the wall. For some reason, my scanners went haywire whenever I was close to the newest officer. A lieutenant.

Why were my scanners going nuts? Because that... _thing_ was powerful. There was something highly familiar about it, but I couldn't seem to figure it out at all.  
It was only until much later, when I got the bastard's scent again, that it made sense.

"And what exactly are you doing here, listening in on conversations that do not concern you?"

"I'm worried."

"A self-proclaimed "ultimate killing-machine" is worried?"

"This is no laughing matter, Kane." I looked the "man" straight into the eyes. "That officer is highly dangerous."

"And why is that? Is he another machine like you and your father?"

"Worse. I have nothing on him."

"...what?"

"The worst enemy of an ultimate killing machine is not an AI with a higher intellect or a machine with more flexibility, speed or strength. But the complete unknown."

"And..?"

"We need him dead, Kane. Now."

"He seems quite useful. But rest-assured he will-"

"You don't understand! That _thing_ is not a human! It's... far too... chaotic..."

"You mean the energy signatures?"

"I know I picked up large chunks of his wavelength somewhere, and I found the reference points."

"Well? What have you found?"

"That my memory core has been heavily tampered with. The sources themselves are all gone." Kane's eyes widened, but remained completely calm otherwise. "Do you understand what that means?!"

"Yes. However, I doubt any of our actions will have an effect. If he is indeed our... "partner" himself, or just a piece of him... Then anything we do, would have been done before already from his perspective."

"Not necessarily, but possible, yes. We need to find a way to not be predictable and stab the front, not the back."

"The opposite of which our new commander might be expecting."

"That's the thing: I don't think he's aware of anything. It's like a piece of that bastard is inside him, online, but not actively doing anything. Else my sister would've said something by now."

"You trust your adoptive sister far too much."

"My beam sabre made it through untampered, Kane. Do not tempt me."

"For being what you claim to be, you truly are simple-minded, child." Kane was smiling now.  
"Rule of thumb, Tarrina: you can't kill the messiah."

* * *

"I'm sorry if it's too tight... Is it too tight?"

My sister was currently strapped to the operation table by arms and legs, covered by another, slightly thicker, blanket, save for her upper back. She could wear trousers, but we couldn't exactly find anything other than a bit too large underwear so enough of her back would remain exposed.

She shook her head.

"I still think we should use the last belt and tie her torso down."

"...Sis?" Nod.  
"Alright..."

"Vitals shouldn't be out of the ordinary, considering what's on her mind..."

"...You afraid, sis?" A very hesitant nod.

"Makes sense: she doesn't know if she'll survive, her legs work, or the Whiskers themselves.  
Have you two gone through the theory, at least?"

"Affirmative."

"Good.  
Let's see... vitals, slightly more unstable than your usual average, understandable... body strapped to table... nano-machines loaded... how much of those?"

"If the bastard's papers are correct, enough for three."

"And your sister wants them all at once?"

Nod.


End file.
